


put her back together

by lvsierra



Series: blood and gears [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Character Study, Five Nights at Freddy's: Sister Location
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24393004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lvsierra/pseuds/lvsierra
Summary: But she wasn’t completely... dead.
Relationships: Michael Afton & William Afton | Dave Miller
Series: blood and gears [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761391
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	put her back together

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> Mostly thoughts. Nothing too detailed. I think I would write something bigger about it someday. Maybe another one-shot. Again, sorry for my english. You can tell me if you see big mistakes.  
> Hope you will enjoy it.  
> The characters and the original story are the property of Scott Cawthon.

The sky was gray and stormy when a young man with a troubled past made a decision that changed his whole life. The cold, humid air from the open window next to him helped him a little to clear his head, and he barely heard the constant sound of water falling in abundance outside, flowing in gutters and flooding loose soil paths.

Michael Afton got up from the chair he was sitting in, glancing quickly at the person in front of him. He did not bother closing the window from where a wind was blowing and shaking the old curtains around before heading for the exit in an idle way. He didn’t even make a move to grab something to cover himself, and let the water touch his face without trying to get out of it. His dark brown hair quickly got wet, but the cold soothed the pain that seemed to go through his brain, like a kind of beneficial electric shock, passing through every part of his head, bringing him back a little—thousands of rivers of frost covering the intrusive boiling of his thoughts.

He was alone—there were fewer people in the streets under this downpour, and he quite enjoyed it. Only lulled by the silence of a sleepy town and people hiding in their homes, like the prey of a harsh reality, sensitive and naive, wanting to appear unaware of what might happen.

Michael was trying to stay up, not overwhelmed by the choices he made, but all he wanted now was to drop down to the damp road and maybe not get up—a wandering soul left behind, forced to follow rules that should not exist, an existence entirely written by his past and his will.

The idea of his father finding him dead on the ground for no apparent reason made him almost _laugh_. Not even killed by an animatronic. It could have been funny, but he wouldn't be there to see it. Less funny suddenly.

He looked down at his feet and hit a rock with his shoe. He was still alive.

_Oh, dear, what do you want?_

It was so absolute, wherever he went there was intense evidence of the impact of his mistakes on his mind and of what was to come one day. Each act has consequences, it's the logical continuation. But it doesn't matter, not for her. Trapped. Condemned. An endless circle of waiting and fear. Was she the only one? Was he the one who had to fix it?

He cursed himself for not being able to get away from this place, for not being able to forget. A feverish mix of dreadful ideas and ardent obsessions. He could try, but he knew he would not succeed. New beginning but old feelings, memories were rarely anything but a vicious curse for him. A wooden box full of old and new pictures that will _never_ go away—bad things and melancholy of a good time. What he learned from his past was not going to help him for that. He wanted to leave and run away and not come back and- And as hard as he tried, Michael couldn't help but look behind, even though it was a path he had already passed. He couldn't figure out what to do. He knew his thoughts would never leave him alone, and now he also knew he might have a way to make it right. Fix what he did wrong.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, remembering the strange conversation he just had with his father. He used to see him neat, well dressed, always giving a good impression, smile and confident face. But not this time. No, this time he seemed troubled. But this time, he also seemed... honest. No pretense and nice words, he said what he had to say, as impossible as it sounded, and his son patiently listened, sitting in front of him, hands flat on the table, never taking his eyes off of him.

His sister was somewhere stuck in the thing that had broken her into pieces—blood on the floor and screams around her, life left the young Elizabeth Afton that day. An overly unconscious and joyful little girl who wanted to see her favorite machine up close even though daddy told her not to, and whom her brother had to watch, so that she would never be alone with _it_.

He left. He left her. He was bored and wanted to see the fox. It was his birthday after all.

But she wasn’t completely... dead. To say Michael was happy to hear that would have been ironic. A small breeze of life still remained in this place, and his father asked him to put her back together. He didn’t take the time to think before accepting, seeking his forgiveness on a mortal path that he could not avoid forever, even if he tried. Even if it seemed crazy. Impossible. _Magic_. Who was he to decide all this? It happened. He didn't have to ask more questions.

The reasons for this particular request were simple to understand from his point of view: he was responsible for what happened, he had to fix what he did, and it was risky. Nothing about these mechanical things wasn't deadly, and his father surely did not want to go in there himself, and perhaps for other reasons that his son preferred to ignore. He didn’t even try to convince him, turn the story into a better one, tip the balance, influence. It would have been so easy. But he didn't. He knew he would accept. His father knew the weight that his son carried on his shoulders every day, painful and cumbersome. It was enough.

He wasn't sure what he felt for this man, if he ever felt something. Even he didn't know if he ever loved his family as he should. How his father saw him, he had no idea, and he didn't even try to find out. Like that day when he saw William Afton come home with dried blood on his shoes, and he understood. Understood that they were not similar only physically, and that he vowed never to be him. But leaving his sister alone to face her death was not the last thing he regretted after that.

He turned around and pushed his hair from his face. His father was at the door, looking at him with an almost worried look. 

_Worried about what,_

_William?_

He took a step forward. Michael regretted things that influenced his life a lot, and everything around him. Things which are hard to say and that he did without hesitating a second, trying to overcome the feelings that beset him. Remorse and a bit of anger too. His father changed after that. He became more distant with Michael, less as obsessed with his young, exact reflection as before. His little himself. He was angry with him, he knew it. And he also knew that one day he would be punished for that too. Too many sharp teeth, noises in the hallways and constant fear—his nights will never have been quiet again, haunted, constantly followed by eyes that had nothing alive.

At this moment, when he had listened to Afton, his feet anchored on the floor and his fingers clenched on the table, knuckles turned white and heart pounding, he felt trapped, and he couldn't do anything about it. Hunted by the ghosts of his past, by actions and thoughts that he had never been able to understand. The dark abyss of a long lost mind, faltering on a thin rope that will one day make him fall into the void.

But he had something to do before. 


End file.
